Caligula

XXXVI

Livia came to him and took him in her arms. She held him for a moment, her face resting on his stomach and her swollen belly against his knees. When she looked up into his face he saw she knew.

Little bird. The thought came unbidden into his head.

'I am sorry,' she said simply.

He looked at her, unsure how to reply; caught somewhere between the extremes of physical collapse and terrible violence. 'You did not know him.'

'He was your friend.'

'No. He was more than my friend.'

'Then I am sorry.'

Did you betray him? The words touched his lips, but went no further. 'He once promised me my freedom. But when I was with him I was always free, so it did not really matter. Do you understand?'

Her face became a blank wall. 'No, and neither do you. He bought you and sold you. He was not some kindly old man who put a roof over your head and fed you because he loved you. He used you.'

'He would have freed me and I would have been his partner in business.' Rufus shook his head in frustration. 'He saved money for me.'

'Then where is this great fortune?' she demanded. 'Where is the legacy of Cornelius Aurius Fronto to Rufus, the slave? Perhaps I have missed something, but we do not appear to be rich.'

'He would have given it to me, but — '

'But? But? But he cheated the Emperor and now he has died for it. I am sorry, truly sorry, that Fronto is dead, Rufus, but he died because of his greed. Would you rather have been the victim? He was not your father. He was a rich merchant who wanted to be richer, and he used everything he could, including you.'

'No. He would have freed me,' Rufus insisted, but his voice had lost its certainty.

Livia continued her attack. 'What is freedom to you and me, Rufus? Perhaps it is different for you, but for me freedom is just a word. Do I need freedom to starve? Freedom to sell my body until some dogbreathed pervert decides it would be more fun to squeeze the life out of me than fuck me? We are slaves and we must live with that. We must make the best of what we have. For our child's sake we must bend like trees in the wind, not invite those who have power over us to break us. Do not risk your life again, Rufus.'

'Fronto was my friend.'

'Yes, he was your friend, but he is gone. We remain. We must survive.'

She made as if to take him in her arms, but he eluded her grasp and stumbled from the room, past the huge bulk of Bersheba and out into the sunshine where the air was cleaner and the world less confusing.

Why had he done nothing? He would have given his life for Fronto, yet he had watched him die without lifting a finger in his defence. The answer seemed simple: he was a coward.

He walked on, head down and unseeing, his shame weighing on his shoulders like an iron yoke, until he bumped into a slight figure and the force of the collision knocked the other man flat. With a thrill of fear he recognized the Emperor's uncle.

Claudius lay on his back in the grass, arms and legs moving in uncoordinated jerks that reminded Rufus of an upended tortoise. He reached down to help the crippled senator to his feet. The old man shrugged him away, managing to turn awkwardly on to his hands and knees and push himself upright. His clothing was streaked with grass stains and stuck with leaves and twigs, but when Rufus tried to brush them off he flailed at him.

'G-get away f-f-from m-me,' he stuttered furiously, spittle dripping from the drooping side of his lip. 'I–I-I–I…'

'Forgive me, sir. I did not see you… I was clumsy… I.. '

Claudius focused on his assailant for the first time. 'You again? You have a t-talent f-f-for abusing an old m-m-man.'

'No, sir,' Rufus said anxiously, before he remembered the drenching Bersheba had given the old senator. 'I mean… yes, sir.'

For the first time, Rufus thought he saw a flicker of humour in the old man's eyes; then it was gone as quickly as it had come.

'You have b-b-been dining at the E-E-Emperor's table?'

For a moment the change of subject confused Rufus. 'Yes, sir.'

Claudius looked thoughtful, as if weighing up a decision. 'Narcissus will c-call on y-you. L-listen t-to him. You m-may hear something t-to y-your advantage.' He waved a hand in dismissal and limped off, muttering to himself.

Rufus frowned as he watched him go.

It was two full days before Narcissus fulfilled his master's prediction. Rufus realized it was no coincidence the tall Greek arrived only a few minutes after Livia had left the house.

Pleading an unlikely indisposition because of the heat, Narcissus asked if they might talk in the shelter of the barn.

'It was unfortunate about your friend,' he said once they were safely hidden in the cool darkness. 'I did what I could for him, of course, but his fate was already sealed. Protogenes presented his evidence to the Emperor some weeks ago. Caligula trusts him as no other.'

Rufus did not hide his disbelief, but Narcissus pretended not to notice the cold stare.

'Truly, nothing could have changed what happened. Such a death,' he added, watching Rufus's face carefully for any kind of reaction. 'How could anyone not hate the man who did this to a friend?'

Rufus saw the trap and could smell the bait. What had old Claudius said? 'Listen to him' — this was a time to listen, not to bark like an angry dog.

Narcissus took his silence as assent to continue.

'Of course, forgive me. You are asking yourself which "man" I mean? Could it be Protogenes, who designed it? Or Chaerea, who ordered it? Or even the two Tungrian oafs who wielded the chains? I understand your confusion and I acknowledge that each is culpable in his own way. And that it would give me great satisfaction if Protogenes, in particular, were to pay for Fronto's death and certain other crimes I could list. But what is the sword without the hand that wields it? Protogenes will be taken care of in good time. Our discussion — our debate — must concern his master.'

He waited for a response, but continued when none came.

'Protogenes's master, then. You have suffered in small ways at his hands. Many have suffered more, and I don't just mean your friend Fronto. The number of those who have suffered, and watched their loved ones suffer, at his hands is countless, Rufus. You are not alone in your hate, never believe that.'

Rufus noticed that it was permissible in the game Narcissus played to reveal any name but that of the subject of the conversation. He was so deep in his own thoughts he didn't realize that Narcissus had stopped talking and was standing patiently, watching him.

'You and I should have no secrets, Rufus,' the Greek said reasonably. Rufus shook his head. He did not want to hear any secrets. 'We are everywhere. Senators and soldiers, freedmen and philosophers, in the streets and in the palaces. If you need names, I will give you names.'

'No names,' Rufus said firmly. 'If you have the support of so many, why do you need one more? Senators and soldiers, you say, but no slaves. Why do you now need a lowly slave?'

Narcissus considered the question. He knew the answer: a lowly slave could reach places and do things, unnoticed, that a senator or a soldier could not. A lowly slave was expendable, where a senator was not.

But there was another reason.

'Perhaps I was too subtle. It is one of my faults. Did we not once talk of a weapon, an unstoppable weapon that can crush a man with a single blow? There is only one person here who has the knowledge and the power to wield that weapon. Only one who can say when the time is right to use it. Do we understand each other?'

Rufus's throat was suddenly desert-dry. A voice in his head screamed at him to walk away. Even to speak of this was death.

'What if…?'

Narcissus waved away his question. 'We will ensure an opportunity arises. It will be your decision whether to take it. He will visit you, as he did with my master that first day. No guards, just you, the elephant and him. Think on it, Rufus. The man who killed Fronto. Not many are granted the opportunity to change history. To save Rome. You should be proud.'

Rufus stared at him, this arrogant courtier who so blithely dispensed life and death. Did Narcissus really think he was such a fool? The fate of Caligula's assassin was as certain as the next day's sunrise. The man who laid a hand on the Emperor was already as good as dead. And he knew something the Greek did not. Bersheba was as incapable of delivering the fatal blow as he was of manoeuvring it.

He stood deep in thought for several minutes after Narcissus left, but he could find no way of escape. The Greek had caged him as securely as any big cat held in the bowels of the arena. When the cage door opened it could lead only one way. To death.